Clever Prisons and Long Lives Lived
by GirlWithTheInkBlackQuill
Summary: The journey of Anthony Williams begins in Manhattan, where his parents are Timelocked, and stretches to their home almost seventy years in the future. His father's letter to Brian Williams was hardly the first twist in his long, impossible life. The story of the Ponds - alive and well and stuck in New York.
1. The Woman on the Mantel

In a modest house with a fair garden, nestled in the heart of Manhattan, there lived a family of three people and one photograph.

There was a mother, but not the kind that fit in with other mothers. Her hair was fire, a burnt sunrise caught in a color. Her nails were regularly painted a disturbing shade of red that never appeased the neighbors. Often she was seen sitting in the garden without a purpose, hands folded and ankles crossed, as if waiting for the willows to become something other than trees.

There was a father as well, who was just as odd as his wife, but better at hiding it. He earned a certain amount of respect regardless of his nature due to his status as the only doctor on a block that housed two lawyers and a politician. He was a solitary figure, save for his small family, which largely kept to themselves.

Both were charming and interesting to talk to (should you find them in such a mood) but alas, this story is not about them. It follows the workings and goings on of the third member and a photograph. The third member was a young boy and the photograph was of a woman.

Anthony Williams had always known he was different.

There were the little things, like the idea that he had two mums and two dads but only lived with one pair. Or the fact that he had come into school finding that he didn't quite speak like the other children. Maybe it was that he had mandatory bedtime stories that felt almost like school. Or maybe it was because Thursday always promised fish fingers in his lunch pail.

But if there was one thing Anthony couldn't understand about being different, it was why there was a picture on his mantle.

Robert Fisher had come for tea at the end of August, when the sun was still shining softly and the trees were still clinging to their leaves. Things had been going brilliantly – Anthony was about to show off the tree house his Dad was building him – when the guest had asked who was pictured on the mantle. It was, at first, a seemingly simple question to avoid; there were many pictures that crowded the small ledge over the fireplace. Most were of him, or Mum, or Dad, or some combination of the three. But of course Robert Fisher was pointing to the only picture that stuck out like an ice cream colored umbrella in July.

Needless to say, things had gone downhill from there. Anthony was only seven, and seven year olds didn't like being wrong. So he forged her – the elusive photographed woman – a false identity that spiraled into a lie far out of his depth.

Robert Fisher did not return again for tea.

After a failed attempt to sit with Robert Fisher and his other friends at lunch, Anthony returned home to find everything quite wrong. Dad was home for starters; the older man had been waiting outside the house in his weekend clothes, hacking at the weeds in the flower boxes. Usually, Mr. Williams did not find himself at home until dinner. And then, when the two wandered inside, his Mum was leaning up against the counter, staring far past the fridge at a point he could not see. He was used to Mum's staring, but the wine glass in her hand was the kind he only saw her use at parties. Not that they had very many parties.

Anthony was beginning to wonder if there was a secret party he had not been informed of, but decided everyone looked too somber to be festive. The only one smiling in the house was that darned woman in the photograph.

Tugging on his father's sleeve – which was as high as he could reach – Anthony whispered as quietly as any child could, "Is it a holiday?" Anthony was good at keeping track of parties, but holidays always sprung up on him.

Mr. William's smile was strained. "Yeah. Sure. It's a holiday."

Which made his mum cry. She left to go sit in the garden, which she often did when she thought no one was awake or at home. Dad made dinner, which was a piece of day-old pie between the two of them. Anthony alone was rather pleased with this unexpected holiday. He stayed up watching telly until he woke up in his bed the next morning.

Anthony Williams was used to being different, but there were some things that he was very good at being normal about. So when he mentioned smugly to Robert Fisher about how wonderful _his _Holiday had been – pie _and_ telly – he expected the boy to be insanely jealous. Instead, the lot looked at him as though he was mad.

"There wasn't no holiday," said one boy at the table uncertainly. He looked vaguely familiar as the son of the only politician on the block. He looked around as to check that no other boys had celebrated a holiday before repeating, "Yeah. No holiday."

And suddenly one of the ruder boys picked up on the conversation and shouted to anyone that would listen, "Hey! Did you hear that Anthony Williams made up his own holiday?" This triggered a boisterous round of _Liar, liar, pants on fire! _until, by last bell, everyone was calling Anthony "Pants."

It was that day that Anthony grew up a bit more. He learned that there were certain things you didn't repeat from the Williams household. One was having a picture of a stranger on your mantle, and the other was when the family celebrated Odd Holidays. These were different from Even Holidays, which everyone celebrated. Even things were good and normal. Even number of numbers on a clock. Even number of eggs in a full carton. Even number of crayons in a box.

But Odd things were family stuff. And Odd Holidays were the Oddest.

No one every looked very happy when they arrived – often they were signaled by Mum crying and breaking out the nice wine glasses. Odd Holidays just made his Dad tired. For Anthony they meant something sugary and a few hours with the telly all to himself.

It was after a month or two of Odd Holidays that Anthony began to wonder if they had something to do with the picture on the mantle. So one Odd Holiday shortly before Halloween, when Mum and Dad were talking in the garden, Anthony approached the old photograph with his jelly donut oozing onto the carpet.

"Happy Odd Holiday," he said, nodding to her and raising his donut. She stared blankly back at him from a long time ago, all golden curls and piercing blue eyes. Anthony felt a bit foolish, but what the hell? It was an Odd Holiday after all. And so he trailed back to the kitchen for seconds, wondering if keeping a photograph as the fourth member of your family made you Odd or Even.

**Author's Note:** Reviews are especially helpful as we embark on this fic. I look forward to hearing what you would like to see as we explore the mad and impossible life of Anthony Brian Williams!


	2. The Even One Out

When Anthony pushed open the front door, he was met with the methodical ticking of the typewriter. His mum was an author, if not particularly well-known, and her part-time job gathered a lot of whispers and stares from the ladies on the block.

It was Tuesday, which was meatloaf day, but nothing smelled particularly meatloafy. As he poked around the kitchen, it occurred to the young boy of twelve that nothing smelled particularly foodish at all. He would have thought it an Odd Holiday, save for the fact that his father wasn't home and his mum was crying.

Mum finally came down the stairs to find Anthony picking at a piece of cake. He was sent to wash up while she added the newly typed pages to the Blue Book; it was a haphazard stack of papers that was bound by a scrap of blue cloth. The Book contained every bedtime story they had ever told him – and a few, he suspected, that he had never been privy to. He was twelve years old now, but the bedtime stories continued.

Dinner was a quiet affair that evening, save for the soft clink of silverware and the methodical chewing of day-old meatloaf that was still cold from the fridge. Finally, Anthony piped up, "We practiced the duck and cover today at school."

Mr. Williams choked on his bite of meatloaf as he snorted with laughter. When he found the ability to breathe again, he said, "Really? They still think that's going to protect against an atomic bomb?"

Anthony bobbed his head. "Well, Ms. Frese said that we'll be at war before summer."

It was his mum's turn to shake her head. "There was no war. I mean – there won't be a war."

There was something in the way his mum stated it that made Anthony lose his appetite. Sometimes she slipped and mentioned things in the past tense. He had vague memories of the days when they had been more open with him, when they had given him gibberish answers. Ever since the Odd Holidays started, Anthony had tried to piece it together. And now seemed a good of a time as ever to test his theory.

Toying with his food, Anthony casually said, "So, is it nice? In the future, I mean."

Silence.

He glanced at his father who was staring at his mother who was glaring right back at her husband with an expression that said, _Don't you dare._

"'Cause it's all true, isn't it? All the bedtime stories. The Doctor left you here."

Something in his mum snapped. "He did _not_ leave us," she said forcefully.

Anthony was silent. He had the curious feeling that someone had pulled the entire house out from underneath him. It was like missing the top stair in the dark; his stomach fell and suddenly the food in front of him seemed more repulsive than usual.

"Mum?" he asked, embarrassed by the slight quiver in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Anthony," his mum said quickly, standing suddenly and tossing her napkin onto her hardly touched plate. "Excuse me."

And with that she promptly exited to the garden. In a matter of moments, it had become an Odd Holiday.

Mr. Williams' gaze followed his wife out of the room, his fork and knife paused halfway between cutting a piece of meatloaf. Torn between his troubled wife and the remainder of his potatoes, the man sighed and left his meal as well. "I'll be right back, Anthony. Finish your corn."

As he had taken to doing during Odd Holidays, Anthony rose from the table and made his way to the mantel. Carefully, he removed the photograph with the silver frame and set it beside him on the cold brick hearth. Boy and photo sat next to one another, waiting for the Williams to return.

After a moment, Anthony said quietly, "I think I've figured it out." He looked down to the photo beside him as if expecting an answer. Receiving none, Anthony continued, "So if Mum is the girl with red hair, and Dad is her boyfriend, then that makes you Melody, right? You're Melody Pond. Their kid." He paused. "You were me before I was. I replaced you. Sorry." Glancing first at the back door and then back to the photograph, Anthony whispered quietly, "I hope you're okay. I hope you're with the Doctor." He reflected that he had never been informed of Melody's fate. He wondered if even his parents knew.

When the former Ponds, windswept and tearstained, returned indoors, they found Anthony sitting casually on the hearth with their only picture of Melody Pond on his right. Quietly, he looked up at them and said in a rather prepared way, "I guess I always thought that being part of this family made me Odd. Because I didn't look like you, or sound like you. But Melody is really your kid, and she doesn't look like you either. Everybody in this family is lost somewhere in Time, and I'm just me. Maybe I'm Even after all." Odd for Anthony had meant special. But now he truly felt like a last minute tack-on to an impossible family.

His mum knelt down in front of him and brushed his bangs away from his eyes in the way she knew he hated. "We were Even once, too, Anthony. Everyone starts out Even. But if you're lucky, you end up Odd."

"Was the Doctor Odd?"

This time it was Mr. Williams that answered with a laugh. "The Oddest."


	3. A Phone Call

The slapping of thousands of footsteps on pavement echoed in the space between towering skyscrapers. Anthony Williams shoved his way through the New York City crowd, rarely apologizing. He was never fond of large crowds and this was no exception.

It was his first summer without school to look forward to in the fall, which was oddly reassuring. Age had suited him, giving him a sharp jaw and a kind smile. Long ago he had given up caring about Odds and Evens, leaving him to worry about boring things like his job and the mortgage payment for the tiny apartment he rented in the city for a hideous sum of money. Still, it was worth it to be near his parents.

They were getting on in years and Odd Holidays became systematically more frustrating. After they had started being fully truthful to him, Anthony began to realize exactly what triggered his mother's outbursts. Often they marked birthdays; he knew for a fact that on four occasions over the years, his grandparents had actually been born. While it was doubtful that his parents would live to see their own births, it was still disconcerting. He had taken to consoling her, all the while building up quite a grudge against the Timelord and his little blue box.

But three months ago, the worst Odd Holiday ever had occurred. Anthony had been knee-deep in finals week when he had received a phone call from home that could only be described as frantic. He had rushed home to find the place in ruin. Anthony was unexplainably flummoxed; when he had inherited the Blue Book of Stories, he had done his best to map out the timelines in order to predict such events. But he didn't have anything in the books for seven months (his grandmother's birthday).

After brushing past an exhausted Mr. Williams – who above all else just needed some peace and sleep – Anthony located his mother in the garden. Amelia Williams, now in her sixties, lay among the flowers with mascara methodically running down her cheeks. And so Anthony, in his three-piece suit, sat down humbly in the grass beside her. It had taken some time to coax the story from her, but from what he could gather, Anthony realized that there was a much younger version of his parents running around Florida with the Doctor. There was something about her not actually being herself at the time, but he had carefully chosen to ignore it. Some things you didn't think too much about, or risk giving yourself a migraine.

"But Anthony," she said, pushing herself onto her elbows, "you don't understand. He's here. He's a plane ride away and _I can't even speak to him._" Anthony knew his parents were adamant about not traveling. They had always feared leaving New York would rip Time itself to shreds. The Doctor had been unhelpfully vague about what exactly would happen if they did.

That, of course, had all been months ago. His parents were better now, but he could see how badly that episode had shaken them. It had also taken its toll on Anthony. It was one thing to understand and accept that one's parents are from the future, but another entirely to try and conceive that younger versions of them were running around and having adventures just a few states away.

And so he stayed close. He got a job a few minutes away, and a house. Because if he remembered correctly, his parents' adventure in America had lasted only a few months. Once that danger had passed, he could begin to look at other opportunities further from home.

And so a Tuesday afternoon found Anthony wading through the crowd to reach the crosswalk. His walk home was ten minutes with traffic and – on most days – entirely uneventful.

That particular Tuesday was not one of the uneventful days.

He saw the hair at first and thought nothing of it. The woman on the street across from him had a wild array of golden curls that glinted ostentatiously without her even trying. If anything, it looked like she was trying to slip through unnoticed. And _that_ was what caught his attention.

He burst from the crowd, heart plummeting into his shoe soles. "Melody!" The woman turned back in alarm just in time to see Anthony dodge the first two cars - "_Melody Pond!"_ - and get struck by the third.

* * *

Anthony woke up in a lavish hotel room smelling strongly of perfume. There was a radiating ache from somewhere in his abdomen, but all he could focus on was the woman in front of him.

"That was stupid. Properly stupid," she informed him bluntly. She was older than him by more than a few decades, but her beauty was still very much prominent. Attaching an earring, she continued, "You should have died. I had to use some serious medicine on you."

"You're Melody," groaned Anthony, trying to push himself upright in the bed.

"Yes, and I'd like to know where you got that name." From the arm chair she was seated in, Melody removed a twenty-ninth century blaster and toyed with the settings. Pointing it at Anthony, she continued calmly, "I'd like an answer, if you don't mind."

"My parents." Even breathing hurt, and even in pain Anthony knew he had to be careful. A childhood with his parents had taught him to be very wary of timelines.

"Names," Melody said softly. "I'd like names."

How many times had Anthony prepared for this? A thousand conversations with the picture on the mantel about everything. And now...

"Pond."

Melody's hand froze on the gun. He had expected her to be happy, to hug him or welcome him, but all he could guess was that he was probably about to be gunned down by his adoptive sister.

"What do you mean?" Anthony was struck by the tremor in her voice.

"I mean that I can't say much. Timelines. But _my_ parents are yours as well." Anthony swallowed, acutely aware that the gun in her hand was shaking. In his experience, when people got desperate, accidents happened. Accidents with bullets.

"Don't lie to me," hissed the gorgeous woman in front of him, retightening her grip on the gun. "My mother was injured at Demon's Run. She can't have children."

"No, she can't," Anthony replied sadly. "That's why I was adopted."

Slowly – the pain was manageable, but still problematic – Anthony reached in his back pocket and produced his wallet. Opening it carefully, he pulled out a scrap of a photo and held it out to her. She rose from her seat and took it cautiously from him. The arm holding the gun fell to her side.

Pinched between her red manicured nails was a photo taken shortly after Anthony's thirteenth birthday. Amy Williams was tall and beautiful, her hand resting on Anthony's shoulder. The photographer had caught her mid-laugh, eyes crinkled and shining. Rory had his arm around her waist, holding her closely. And in Anthony's hands, at his insistence, was cradled a framed photo.

"The frame's a picture of you," Anthony murmured softly. "The only one they had. I think it was in one of their pockets when they got here."

Melody looked up, tears already forming. "Why are they here?"

"You know I can't tell you that. You're not supposed to know about any of this, but I trust that you can keep this quiet. One more lie." He glanced at the tally marks on her arm. "I would guess that you're hunting Silence now, right? You investigated New York, Mum got Utah, and Dad was in Arizona. That's all happening for you right now."

Melody nodded. "I'm meant to look into some old buildings tonight."

Anthony felt suddenly cold. This would be the night that she dove off the top floor. "Then it's your last night in New York."

"For one so keen on keeping me in the dark, you're certainly giving me plenty of spoilers," she laughed, wiping her eyes.

"I have a request." Anthony took a deep breath, barely hearing her. "I'd like you to see them. Our parents."

"That's not a good idea," she responded reflexively.

"Tell me what you've gathered from talking with me," Anthony offered. "See if you can piece it together."

"Alright," Melody said, playing along. "My parents are in New York. Been here a while if they've settled down to raise you. But the Doctor's not here. And neither am I. So... they're stuck?"

Anthony gave a careful shrug. "Close enough. But they never got to say a proper goodbye to you. And I think you owe them that."

Melody looked at him, pained and torn. "I – I have to be at the building in five hours."

"It'll only take two. I'll drive you there, even," he offered, beginning to feel hopeful.

Melody took a deep breath. "Okay. But I need to get dressed."

Anthony grinned. "And I need to make a phone call."


	4. Trusting a Madman

Needless to say, his mother had sounded anxious on the phone. "What do you mean, you're bringing a girl over? Are you dating?"

"Nothing like that, Mum, honest. Just be ready in fifteen minutes. I'm bringing her by."

The wind rushed through the open car windows. For some reason known only to God, Melody – or River, as she had finally insisted he call her – was dressed in a green dress that was tight in the summer heat. "Are you going to dance with the Silence, or shoot them?" Anthony asked, maneuvering the car into traffic.

River laughed, currently in the process of piling her massive curls on top of her head. "Either."

"Or is it because you're seeing the Doctor?" Anthony knew that they were married, although time streams messed things up quite a bit.

She sighed. "Yes, I suppose that as well."

"Is it hard?"

"Is what?"

"Traveling with Mum and Dad and having them not know who you are."

The silence grew heavy. He risked a glance at River, who was now attaching a pair of blue earrings. "Yes," she finally answered. "It is. Not just because it means I'm nearing the end of the Doctor's time stream. Because they're young and innocent and happy." She turned to look at him. "I doubt the Doctor will ever offer you to travel with him. If he's responsible for your parents being here, then you are a manifestation of that guilt. But let me be honest with you, just in case: The traveling gets more difficult, the longer you stay. It starts out with adventures and laughs and saving worlds. You see the Doctor as some sort of god. But he's not. You stay long enough and slowly, things change. Danger gets very real. You start to lose people that matter. And eventually, you stop."

"Will you? Stop, I mean," he asked, turning away from her piercing eyes.

"No," she said softly. "I can't. He needs someone."

"So you're just going to keep going on adventures with him until you end up a casualty?" demanded Anthony, suddenly angry at the thought. "Why's that _your_ job?"

"I was born to kill the Doctor, Anthony." For a moment he wondered what was different, and then realized that was the first time she had used his name. "I've spent my entire life trying to make up for that fact. And in doing so, I fell in love with him."

They were nearing the end of traffic – Anthony could see the exit coming up. "I am the only person in this family who doesn't see the Doctor as some benevolent saint?" he spat.

To his surprise, River gave a hollow laugh. "No. There's just too much Williams in you."

"What?"

"Your father wasn't too fond of him to begin with. He always held the Doctor accountable."

"Well, someone has to," grumbled Anthony. "I always thought he was so great. The superhero of my childhood. But when I figured out he was real – that he _really _hurt my mum and _really _left them here – well, things were different."

Anthony parked the car outside the Williams residence. The grass was mown and the flowers well-looked after. He vaguely wondered if this was the sort of house River expected her parents to grow old in. "Here we are."

But River made no move to exit. Instead, she turned to face him once more. "I'm giving my parents a goodbye. But I want to give you something as well. I trick I picked up from the Timelord himself." It was always odd to remember that River wasn't human. That she had two hearts and three faces. But when she reached out and placed her fingertips to him temple, they felt perfectly warm and human. "The Doctor always did this in a hurry. And that's why it hurt. But I've managed to perfect it. Close your eyes." He obeyed.

And then, quite suddenly, River was very _there _in his mind. Very _present_.

_I was born in battle. _A huge battle station flashed before his eyes, crawling with soldiers. And his mother, in white, clinging to a bundle and crying, _Leave her, please, just leave her!_

_The Doctor saved me. Or he tried. He always tried. _The orphanage, dark and graffiti-strewn. A young girl that greatly resembled his father running from a space suit.

And so it went. A thousand adventures that he had only read about flashed before his eyes, narrated by River in a quiet, lilting voice. Every victory, every triumph. Every downfall. Every hug, every kiss, every tear shed. All his now.

_The Doctor is not a god. He is broken, a broken man who fell from the stars. _Their wedding atop a pyramid, reality crumbling around them, the cloth between them warm in their hands. _And I loved him. _His mother, laughing in a way he had never seen her laugh, swinging back and forth on a play set next to the man with the bowtie. His father hugging him fiercely in Utah. _We all loved him. _

And suddenly, they were back in the hot, muggy car, and River moved her hands to cradle his face. "It's in your heart to love him as well." And then Anthony let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The entire encounter had taken less than a moment, but still, he _felt_ different.

River removed her hands and opened the door. "Coming?"

Anthony shook his head. "I'll stand guard outside. If I remember correctly, you're a fugitive at the moment. Hiding from the FBI." When she still didn't look convinced, he added, "Plus, I think I need some time to process."

"Walk me to the door, at least," she bargained, and it occurred to Anthony for the first time that she was nervous. And so they walked up the gravel path to the door together; the man who was once a boy and the woman who was, in this time, only a photograph.

Amy pulled open the door at the sound of the doorbell and simply stopped.

"You'd better invite her in, Mum," Anthony teased with a smile. "I got hit by a car trying to track her down for you."

And then Amy threw herself at her daughter, and there were tears, and shouts for Rory to _get out here because you'll never guess who's at the door._

* * *

Anthony parked outside the building long after River had ventured inside. He kept an eye out on the fiftieth floor until, even from his place leaning on the hood of his car, he could hear the sound of orders being shouted.

It was then that a miniscule figure, a smudge on the black night sky that is almost impossible to make out, fell off the building. He waited tensely, ears straining, until he heard it.

The whooshing of TARDIS engines, a sound that people had been trying to describe to him for all his life, filled the summer night. Anthony didn't even wait for her to hit the tiny blue box he could now almost see. Instead, he grinned and slid behind the wheel, turned the key, and drove off into the night.

Because, for the first time in his life, he trusted the Doctor with him family.


	5. The First Rule

The pavement was old and cracked, and the sky the same shade of smoky gray as the clouds above his mother's funeral. Anthony stopped to ponder the event for a moment, and also to take a seat on a questionable bench. His knees were simply not what they used to be.

She had been there. River had come to his mother's funeral with the Doctor on her arm. He'd known that just being there was dangerous and had done his best not to speak to them. He had some stupid idea that if he didn't acknowledge them, the universe wouldn't either. If Anthony had harbored any ill feelings toward the Doctor after River's visit, they evaporated after the funeral. He had never seen a man so broken over anything.

It was a few years ago today that Amy was buried next to her husband. And so it had only seemed right to honor it somehow. And what better way than to visit the small town where she was still alive with his father and sister? He would not visit her. He understood that. At his best guess she was around seven years old – and that was no time to meet your future child.

Anthony was considering finding a coffee shop when a young voice with a Scottish accent chirped in front of him, "You look sad."

The man's head snapped up to meet the slightly worried face of Amelia Pond. Her hair was like fire and her freckles prominent. Even in miniature, she had a presence. No wonder the Doctor could not ignore her.

"Do I?" asked Anthony faintly, running his hand through his hair.

"And you talk funny," she added, hopping up onto the bench beside him.

"You're one to talk," Anthony laughed. "I didn't know we were in Scotland."

She eyed him very carefully before saying in a rush, "Listen, I know we've just met, but can I borrow three quid?"

"Borrow?" Anthony asked dubiously. "Do you plan on giving it back?"

"If you stick around long enough," Amelia replied confidently. Anthony marveled at his mother's brazenness.

"Why do you need three quid?" he finally settled on asking.

Rolling her eyes, Amelia launched into an explanation. "Well, last night my... friend... came over and ate all our custard. And I need to buy more 'cuz he promised to stay and have some with me. But Aunt Sharon isn't home and she's moved the money sock again and I _really_ need three quid to buy custard," she finished in a rush.

Anthony was frozen. A friend has visited her? Surely he had not stumbled upon his mother _the day after she met the Doctor? _And even worse – hadn't she said that he had come back to speak with her the next day? To tell her to be patient?

And now his seven year old mother was trying to coax him out of three quid in order to feed the Timelord in her kitchen. A headache had begun to blossom somewhere behind his left temple.

"Your friend, why doesn't he buy it himself?" Anthony asked. Why was the Doctor letting her hit up strangers for money instead of buying the damn stuff himself?

"He's... not normal," his mother said evasively. Then, after a moment, "Can I trust you?"

Remembering the words of River Song from one of his mother's stories, he responded, "If you like."

Amelia leaned in, as if telling him a secret. "He's _magic. _He's got a police box that's a time machine. He's going to take me to save whales in space and fight pirates – if I'm patient," she added.

"Sounds like a man worth three quid," Anthony said with a smile. "Listen, I'll give you the money – if I can meet your friend."

Her face took on a look of wonder. "You believe me?"

"Of course. You don't have any reason to lie to me. Consider it a bet – of three quid – that I think you're telling the truth."

Her smile shined. "Deal!"

* * *

Anthony Williams acknowledged some time ago that his life was not going to be easy after losing his parents. He would be forced to watch them grow up, happy and unaware of their fate. From Amy's modeling career to her articles, he would be happy that _they_ were happy. That had been the plan.

But walking back to Amy's house, with a plastic sack containing custard for an alien in her kitchen, Anthony realized how difficult this plan was going to be. Every moment he spent with her was both a gift and a stab in the heart. Already, she had formed the habit of brushing her hair from her face that he had always associated with his mother. She was loud and feisty and fearless. In short, she was everything he had lost when she died.

Her voice threaded in and out of his thoughts. "I think you'll like him. He's funny. At first he was all raggedy, but when he came back he looked a lot better. Kinda sad, though. Like you."

_That's because we're both missing the same thing, _thought Anthony helplessly. Of all the heart-wrenching things he had experienced today, the worst was what he had discovered; his mother had died on the anniversary of the day she met the Doctor. Somehow, that pained him above all else.

Everything was happening too quickly. All at once they were in front of her house, then through the gate, then unlocking the front door. Amy skipped ahead of him, darting down the hall, calling, "Doctor! I got the custard!" As she turned into the doorway to the kitchen, Anthony hesitantly followed. It was only when he heard the _crash_ that he broke into a sprint.

Anthony exploded through the door only to find nothing wrong.

Except there was.

Amelia Pond stood a few feet ahead of him, facing an empty kitchen. The plastic bag had slipped from her grasp and fallen to the ground, where custard was slowly spilling over the tiles. "Doctor?" she asked softly.

Turning around, she pushed past Anthony and sprinted up the stairs. He could hear doors slamming as she checked each room. Moments later, she stormed past him again, making for the garden. This time, Anthony followed. He walked out into a breeze where there had been none before.

Amelia stood, her hair flying, her coat snapping in the sudden wind. "No!" she screamed hoarsely over a sound Anthony had only heard once before. "You promised!"

But the outline of the TARDIS was already gone.

Distraught, she faced Anthony with tears streaming down her face. "He promised."

There was a lump in his throat that no words could get past. It was all he could do to allow her to wrap her arms around his waist and let her sob into his jacket. Because of all the memories River had given him all those years ago, only one came to mind at the moment.

_Rule one: the Doctor lies. _


End file.
